Ten is the Loneliest Number
by blackinkcoffee
Summary: A series of quick drabbles written to ten songs chosen at random. You know how this goes. Shassie.


Alexi Murdoch: Shine

Shawn stands with his back to the precinct. The wind is blowing, harder than usual it seems, and his hair falls into his eyes in sweeps or brownish-blond.

Their last case had not gone well.

More than that, Shawn had not taken their last case well. A girl had died, young and pink and heart-breakingly unprepared for this. But then, who is? Who prepares for death? At 14, no one does, and Shawn had barely held it together. Even Lassiter seemed concerned. But...that couldn't happen anymore than Shawn showing any real emotion could.

He feels a hand on his arm, but he doesn't turn. He doesn't speak.

"Don't run." Lassiter's voice is warm, surprisingly so, and Shawn can't help but turn slightly into it. "Don't run." Lassiter pats him once, twice, like a friend would, before turning and leaving him alone again. But how could he stay when it was so damn hard? How could anyone? He tried so hard to let nothing in. To let no one in. And it is always better to cut your loses and run, right?

Right?

Metric: Dead Disco

After the last case, Shawn had grabbed his wallet, his phone, a bag hastily packed with whatever he saw first, and got on his bike. He rode for hours, aimless and unsure. He rode against the beach, staring into the horizon ahead of him where the darkening sky seem to slide off into the ocean. He rode by bars, by staggering locals out for a night of forgeting. He rode by quiet houses and imagined the families living in them. They were happy, he thought, and unsuspecting.

The poor bastards would never see it coming.

He rode by an apartment and a crown vic and it was only then that he stopped, that he was _able_ to stop. His helmet slip from numb fingers and he breathed deeply, once, before walking up the driveway.

Mates of States: California

When Shawn was young, he drove anywhere but home. What did home mean when your father was a sadist and your mother was a ghost? Shawn stopped believing in that myth like it was some communal conspiracy. He couldn't understand why everyone kept perpetuating it.

It wasn't until Gus called that he remembered what home meant. It meant friendship and security and unwavering acceptance and yes, settling for something less than thrilling, but Shawn thought that if he did it right, maybe it could be thrilling after all.

Matt Costa: Cold December

Carlton hits his desk in frustration. Shawn had left two weeks ago on some cross-country vacation; _just in case_, he said, like he was preparing for the apocalypse. Gus had just looked at him and shook his head. _Now you know what I've been through_, it says. _Now you get to wait_.

Carlton didn't wait. And, for the last three months, he didn't sleep alone. This seems like a hole in Shawn's plan and as Carlton slides into bed that night, he sleeps right in the middle as if location will compensate for the sudden cold. It doesn't. Carlton stares at the ceiling like he can see straight through to God and he wishes on him as if he is just one giant shooting star. It doesn't come true that night nor the next five nights, but on the sixth, Carlton wakes to a familiar heat and it is all that he can do not to cry. Finally he can sleep. He tries, molding himself to the warmth, but it doesn't work. He opens his eyes and smiles before leaning over and placing a single chaste kiss on Shawn's lips.

"Welcome home."

Now. Now, he can sleep.

Beck: Broken Drum

Shawn tells Lassiter to grow his hair out. Frequently. Every day, sometimes multiple times throughout the day like Lassiter has forgotten. There is little Lassiter hates more than being treated like a child, but one of those few, qualifying pet peeves is not knowing. In this case, he does not understand why Shawn is so insistant on this issue and he is determined to find out.

Like, now. Like, pressing Shawn against against a wall until the hard planes of his shape are burned into his memory. This, too, happens frequently.

"For the love of God, Spencer, why do you have such an obsession with my hair?!" For emphasis, Lassiter pushes Shawn harder, trying to grind him into the very wall against which he is pressed. Shawn seems to have another kind of grinding in mind entirely and all Lassiter can do is stand there, stunned, as his grip slackens. Shawn steps forward with a wide grin and bright eyes.

"So I can do this, Lassy." He cards a hand through Lassiter's hair, which he has been growing out if not to just get rid of Shawn (or maybe, Lassiter thinks now, for another reason), until his fingers curl into the fine hairs at the base of his neck. He pulls Lassiter forward, his hand still in his hair, and kisses him lightly.

"Toodles!"

Angus and Julia Stone: A Book Like This

Being alone isn't how Carlton thought it would be. After Victoria left, Carlton was something broken. Something he thought could never be repaired. He had spent a lot of time, then, watching old movies in his apartment and drinking beer from cans until the screen blurred and fell into black.

He was tired, to put it simply. But he grew. He changed, slowly, but he did change. And when Shawn Spencer waltzed into his life and did everything in his power to piss Carlton off, Carlton wasn't ready. He had been changing, alright, but turning cold. Unforgiving. He was building a wall and Shawn was not a brick layer. He was chaos.

So when Shawn ended up in Carlton's bed, they had both been surprised. They were light and dark. Two shores of different oceans entirely. But somehow, Carlton is falling and he wonders if Shawn has his fair share of bricks too.

Vetiver: Idle Ties

Fishing was for old people. This was what Sundays are all about: the beach, the sand that stretches for entirely like a hot tongue, the ocean breaking into curls of thunder and foam. Companionship.

It was something Shawn used to do alone. Not even Gus had been invited to the hidden cove of rocks and palm trees that Shawn had frequented since he was a truant youth. But Lassy was special. He was his longest relationship, aside from Gus, that Shawn had ever willingly been in (don't get him started on his sixth grade stalker) and it was about time Shawn started giving back.

Not to say Shawn wasn't a giver. He was, and damn talented he would say (and he would. Loudly, to anyone would listen) and not even Lassy could disagree on that particular front. But Shawn, despite outward appearances, hid things. He had secrets.

"Ah, Lassy, you're just in time!" Shawn pushed up his shades as Lassy approached, a faded picnic blanket folded over one arm. "C'mere." Shawn pulled Lassy in for a kiss that wasn't just a little dirty before pulling away with a salacious grin and dramatically laying the blanket on the hot sand.

He plopped down and patted beside him. "You're sitting next to me, tonight."

Denison Witmer: One More Day

"Goddammit!" Shawn's voice was filled not with anger but frustration and a hint of utter defeat. Across the room, Gus closed his eyes. These were the warning signs. These were the sign posts, a glowing on-ramp, to an empty office and a postcard a month down the road.

"Shawn...," Gus trailed off. He had never been good at comforting Shawn when he hit this stage but watching Shawn pace and rip at his (perfectly coiffed) hair and _fall apart_ meant drastic measures.

"Shawn. Just tell him, alright," Gus said, all reason and logic. "If he gets pissed, I'll help you pack. Shawn looked up and deep within his drowning eyes, Gus thinks he sees a glimmer of something he didn't dare call hope. Not yet, at least.

Andrew Bird: Tables and Chairs

_What r u up 2?_

Carlton looked down at his phone and shook his head.

_Work_.

That's right. Don't encourage him.

_That sounds sexy. What r u wearing? _

Carlton typed fierely.

_A suit and tie. You saw me this morning. _

The reply was instanteous, like Shawn had known what he would say. He probably did.

_Ooh. Hot. _

Shawn was such a knucklehead. Why was he dating him again?

_U want me to come and help u take if off? If u don't have ur handcuffs, we can always use that tie for more than just neck decoration._

Oh yeah. That's why. He rolled his eyes, grinning as he typed.

_Yeah. Like a gag._

That, and he made him laugh.

Blind Pilot: Two Towns From Me

Psych was the best thing that ever happened to Shawn until Carlton. Psych was freeing and Carlton reigned him in in a way that Gus never could. He balanced him.

So, when Lassiter finally had enough of Shawn's shit, there was no choice but to leave the two things that had defined his entire life and run, run, run.

This was something he had done before and something that felt like he would never stop. His life was full of this: of running away, of long nights, of dreaming of something better just over the hill. But dreams are useless when you've had it, he best thing ever, and it didn't want a goddamn thing to do with you.


End file.
